Max's head was bent low over Alex's desk.  The police had finally let the family reuse the room and Alex was getting settled in his bed.

Max could hear Isabel whispering words of comfort as Alex groaned. Turning over was agonizing for him still, but Max hoped that wouldn't last long. Now that they were home, he could him heal him enough to get rid of the pain without raising suspicion.

Isabel went to go get a cold cloth for Alex's head.

Max swiveled in his chair and faced the bed.

"So, you feeling any better?" he asked lightly.

"Better than . . . what?" Alex cast his eyes around as he joked. "Better than a kielbasa on the Valenti dining table?  Yes.  But frankly not as good as I'd like."

Max smiled briefly at his reference to the Sheriff and his son, who remained friends with the group, though from the outside.  It was still hard to fathom that not even with Valenti's connections could they come up with any information on Liz's disappearance. Of course, now everything had changed . . .

"Have you remembered anything else about that night, the conversation with Liz, anything at all?"  He searched Alex's eyes, feeling a sense of desperation springing up.

He couldn't believe it.  Even after she wouldn't talk to him, he still wanted to hope, to believe that somehow, she was still his Liz.

"Uh . . . yeah.  Actually I have," Alex said hesitantly.

Max sat up straighter in the chair. This didn't sound good.

Alex cleared his throat and then smiled up at Isabel as she handed him a wet, cool washcloth for his forehead.  Alex moved to sit up farther and she bent over to help him.  His back had been badly bludgeoned and he winced at the movement.

"Sorry," Isabel whispered.

"Alex, I can take care of that now if you want me to," Max began, but a gesture from Alex cut him off.

Alex closed his eyes briefly and leaned back against the headboard.

"I was shocked at first. I don't think I would've recognized the voice if she hadn't told me who it was. But once she did . . ."

"You knew it was her," Max quickly prompted him.

"Yeah," Alex said slowly. "It was Liz.  And she was deliberately not answering my questions. It was like some bizarre nightmare. There she was, on the phone, alive and well, and I couldn't get anything out of her about where she was, or where she'd been. Or if--if anybody had hurt her."

He stopped and gulped.

Max saw Isabel cut her eyes at him angrily as Alex continued.

"But like I said before, she did ask about you, Max.  And about the evil ones, if they had come."

Max nodded.

"That's so weird," Isabel muttered.

"I thought so, too," Alex looked up at her and agreed. "She was . . . happy to talk to me.  I remember thinking that.  And, she said that she wanted me to tell you all that she was okay, but she couldn't come home yet."

Max sat up even straighter, if that was possible.

"She said she 'couldn't' come home?" he asked eagerly.  Alex hadn't mentioned that before.  But it made sense, because the more he thought about it, her voice had sounded panicked when he heard her in the background.

Maybe someone was keeping her away.  He tried to squelch the hope leaping inside of him . . .